


tell me that you love me (hold me tight so we can always be friends)

by soitiswritten (hazyamethyst)



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Mild Kink, Porn with Feelings, angst-free guaranteed, i wrote this first of all to comfort myself after playing through the bad ending so yeah :))), this loosely follows Clear's good ending in RE:connect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 18:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21081371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazyamethyst/pseuds/soitiswritten
Summary: Things change with time, but his libido isn't one of them.





	tell me that you love me (hold me tight so we can always be friends)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song "Halo" by Cage the Elephant.  
I don't own these characters but I do love them very much. This game ruined me <3  
Enjoy!

It’s a work in progress, reconciling the before with the after. Clear makes sure to remind himself this anytime he feels like rushing through the healing process, caught up in what would be more efficient long-term than what simply is. To keep choosing each other into this mundane life, half a year in a relationship and counting, that’s the true accomplishment. They’ve no shortage of things to work on, but Clear has learnt to accept the somewhat bitter pill that is the fact that life goes on regardless. There’s no point in lamenting there are limitations to what he can do for Aoba, not so much physical but emotional. What Aoba would allow him to, even. Sequels are as organic as the changes of season he celebrates, just as jellyfish and the vast deep ocean; vibrant everywhere, this bustling life he’s been immensely lucky to get a second shot at experiencing.

Sequels, he won’t let them stand in his way to happiness.

Sequels, though they do show in newfound quirks and at times feel this… _this._

_Bittersweet? _

The man he loves keeps a close eye on him, something that to him the other isn’t all too conscious about but Clear understands well enough. It isn’t that Aoba doubts his skills in the kitchen or his ability to safely handle sharp objects and fire; it isn’t exactly that he enjoys spending most of his lunch break walking back to their apartment just to nibble something quick then hurry back to work; no, it isn’t that he blooms into some hopeless romantic every time Clear manages to take him out to enjoy the rich night life that the city now offers and so clings to his arm in a burst of boyish affection.

What ifs.

Could have beens.

It’s fear that the passing of immediate danger didn’t swipe up, morphing and festering into trauma in his absence. For a lot of time, much as he hates to think about it, Aoba hurt. He hurt and he longed for what he thought might never happen. The idea was logical, surely, and each passing day only cemented it further. Like vines slowly creeping up a wall, curling around the top and poking their way back through it, multiplying. They’ll take over even the most once-beautiful constructions if left unchecked, with time. A year and some months are far from a blink to human existence.

It’s more than numbers, this concept of ’age’ they shape their life experiences around. On some specific dates they celebrate it, a fair effort to hide this unruly bone-deep impulse to fear it. For Aoba, it seems duty now. He _has _to make sure Clear isn’t vanishing into thin air the moment he looks away. That he’d be whole and perfectly okay after left some time alone. No malfunctions, no outside threats, no vivid-real dreams taking over no-one. This is it. The reality they’ve only got but a feverish taste of back to when they rushed out of Toue’s building, victorious in spite of it all. They’ve earned this. Aoba would see it too, reacquaint with the predictability of everyday life and have his friends and family’s support, coupled with Clear’s own permanent reassurances, gradually chip away at his fears and worries. Clear is patient in that regard.

What he’s not too completely sure of, however, is of something he’d expected to be gone by the first months of dating, tops. It’d really seemed nonsensical at first, borderline cute. There’s no denying there’s more to it now, though.

Well.

Not always, but_ most_ of the time—especially in places he’d expect him not to—Aoba is a great deal more comfortable acting like his friend rather than his lover.

When they’re out in public, Aoba clams right up at the slightest inviting touches, be it a hip, his nape or just the soft gentle curve of his lower back. There’s the accusations of it being ‘embarrassing’ and ‘weird’ and no questions for permission for seemed to ever do much than spur on higher offense at the act of asking alone because ‘those kind of things you just don’t ask’. It was its own brand of a catch-22 (yes he’d read that book by now) and it only gets worse the further things go and the get more intimate. Kisses aren’t the exception, even brief peck on the lips may have Aoba wanting to book it the other way, and sexual innuendo of any kind is censored on the spot by hands or active shushing, no matter if they’re somewhere where it’s expected and explicitly encouraged like nightclubs (the same Aoba himself insisted to show him all too happily in the first place).

Still, it’d be one thing if it just happened when they’re out and about but the same awkwardness and empty, instinctive rejections can carry on well into the time they by themselves naked and sweaty in the comfort of their bed, Aoba keening and clenching prettily on his cock only as long as Clear doesn’t comment on it, lets him close his eyes and tiredly bat away his hands as he pleads in the same breath eyes wide and glassy ‘please, please, please’.

What? Clear has come to ask himself.

_What has you holding yourself back, Aoba-san? Is shyness to blame now, too? Or is there some conflict you keep, all nurtured and private, at odds with our love?_

Of course, Clear recognizes this topic would need to be approached way more tactfully for Aoba not to brush him off and poke fun at his over-analysing nature. The sooner they speak, though, the better. Right now, it all confuses Clear more than anything. He doesn’t doubt Aoba’s true feelings for him, not after everything they’ve gone through to settle into this new beginning, together. He’d just really enjoy some enthusiastic reciprocity once in a while. But that’s getting ahead, surely. Clear can deal with whatever comes out of it but having Aoba giving him mixed signals all over and him guessing his way through would only end up with one of them getting hurt in the end. And that’s the last thing either of them needs, really.

No, he’d make sure this doesn’t put a strain in their relationship.

X

“Ehhhh? ”

“Fantasies. It’s a common thing for adults to have. Nothing to be ashamed of, especially when it’s your boyfriend asking. Isn’t that right?” Clear flashes him his signature reassuring smile.

“Uhhhh.” Aoba stares right at him, then blinks himself out of his surprise with rosy cheeks. “I mean, yes. Of course, I just— um, that was a little out of the blue.”

He mutters the last part, pout forming and gaze sliding back to the TV and the cello concert they were watching being streamed, Clear’s pick. It’d set a calming atmosphere, he’d hoped. Had Aoba more relaxed and keen to open up as he insists.

“I want you to tell me, Aoba-san.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Aoba mumbles, eyeing suspiciously the arm he’d slung his way over the loveseat's backrest.

“What’s with this all of a sudden?”

Clear sighs, allowing his mind to run a quick recap of the day’s events. The morning had seen him occupied in the small home study he’d put up in the guest room with the glass panels that—while not as wide as their bedroom’s—still let plenty of light in, and allow a nice view of the city. Clear would love to have his own shop someday but money is tight as it is, with their moving and all, so he’s more than content doing his daily handcrafting of shiny items unperturbed.

Well, mostly. Sometimes Aoba “forgets” to take Ren with him, an act that speaks volumes when Clear knows he’s never just that careless when it comes to his beloved all-mate, but he’s far from a bother. Sometimes he quietly naps on his lap or at his feet, other times he’s eager to help him set up his online shop and goes around taking pictures of his day’s work, filtering out the best, uploading them and spamming his social media profiles with self-promos.

Today, though, he’d been alone. It’d been sunny, too, which meant he’d headed out to his favourite park in the North District the moment he was done finishing some pocket mirrors and a baby mobile. It was this last one he’d some doubts about, it was lightweight and acceptably shiny in his eyes made out of different types of seashells he’d collected, arranged carefully together and polished into different sea-life figures. Still, would a baby like it? He knew next to nothing about babies, he hadn’t ever been one, though Aoba assured it made no difference as he himself didn’t remember much before he was six. The woman that ended up buying it didn’t look the least conflicted, at least. She paid for his steep first price, no bartering, and heartily told him her baby would sure love it.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how she could know, for sure. He was immensely curious about how this feeling of hers could correlate to his hunches when noticing subtle things about Aoba, the things he liked and didn’t beyond what he put into words. It was fascinating, a topic that could get him babbling for hours so he smiled and thanked her, instead. Kept selling some other stuff and closed up show in the early afternoon.

Made a quick run to the supermarket.

Got the ingredients to make a savory stir fry.

Threw the apron with the printed ducklings over his semi-casual clothes and cooked with a sharp eye kept on the clock.

Checked himself on the mirror, splashed his neck with a fresh citrusy cologne Aoba had got him and run a self-cleaning routine to deodorize.

Opened the door.

A sweet blur,_ blue_.

And that gets him here, where he’s standing up to take off his sweater at last. If he’s going through with the second part of his plan then his top priority is easing Aoba into being seduced. Right now Clear knows he’s content: freshly showered, belly full from their dinner and spirits mellow as they drink wine and laze watching TV. He needs to spark up that contradiction at least partly or he’d be caught up in the guessing game because Aoba looked too fucking delectable in his blue boy pyjamas and he’s grown kind of a sucker for his shy act, it seems. Bad, bad robot.

He stretches way more than it’s necessary, huffs as he pretends his head to be stuck on the collar and lets the tight white t-shirt he wears below ride up as he pulls at the wool with fake annoyance. Once he’s done he lays it on the unoccupied armchair to the right, then plops right back on the far end of the loveseat. He’s not out of arm’s reach, but he isn’t exactly close enough to give or receive warmth, casual touches or whispers. It’s perfect, he decides, ruffling his fluffed-up hair back into place and leaning to grab an apple from the fruit basket on the coffee table opposite. Only then he shoots a glance Aoba’s way to find the boy intently following his movements, mouth parted as if to say something only Clear beats him to it, tone as lighthearted as he can manage.

“Sorry! I felt kind of hot.” He brings a hand to his chest and paws at a handful of cotton soft fabric, pulling at it in quick movements to fan himself. He gives a little bow, adorns it with a small smile. “I’ll be quiet now.”

“Uh. Okay.”

The concert carries on and Clear does his best to be true to his word. He doesn’t talk, or make wild sudden movements or anything grand that’d qualify as a ruckus. He does eat the apple he picked though, slowly, taking in bites a lot littler than the deep way he sunk his teeth would suggest. It’s just dessert, really. A very juicy, fresh, desert he’s contently making a show of devouring without a care in the word for cleanliness or the passing time. He’s straight up savouring it, everything from the crunch of his slow bites to the watery sweet juice that comes out and if he sucks, oh, he gets the best of both worlds, a rush of sweetness, messy, running past his chin and jaw and, of course the leftover dryer bit to munch on. It’s in the details, wonder and beauty and everything pleasurable. Ever escaping the hurried eye, it hides, locks happiness away with a vengeance from those unable to appreciate it. Clear is happy, infinitely more so when picks up on the faster beats of Aoba’s heart racing as the man slides closer to him, in what he might think is an inconspicuous smooth movement.

He’s really something.

“Finish that already! No apple is that good.”

“Oh?” He avoids the swats Aoba gives his arm, nearly collapsing on the spot when he holds the apple farther to the right and Aoba clambers right onto his lap in his impromptu pursue of it. This was simultaneously the easiest and hardest task he’d set to accomplish so far, a revelation that’s never truer than when his boyfriend tires of putting his reflexes to the test and settles, cursing his tall height yet placatedly burrowing his head in his chest. Clear allows a few peaceful moments to pass as Aoba’s breath evens out, his body relaxing against his, warm.

“It’s actually delicious.”

“Hmm?”

“The apple. Well, at least this one is.”

“So you say.”

“Want a bit?” Clear lets his voice rumble low, hand coming up to offer the side that’s mostly intact. “Come on.”

Aoba whips his head back. “I’m good, thanks. Just toss it if you’re full.”

“Aoba,” Clear coos, aware of what dropping the honorifics does to him. _You like being fed, don’t you? _is what he follow it up with, given that he’s pieced together the clues of this particular inclination of his boyfriend long before. He’d rather Aoba speaks up, though. Lay out his neediness bare in some frenzied release of pent-up emotions, say it to his face. Admit it, all lewd and helplessly human in his arms, seeking touch and friction and everything that _fills_. It’s getting something inside him after all, to feed. A thing he can get sick without, one he can choose which varieties to like and want but never not to need. Clear isn’t vulnerable in that way, he eats merely to enjoy tastes and fall into human costumes but nothing happens to him if he skips all meals for a week. This is a fact well-known to Aoba, his wish to pamper and care for and no laugh and dismissal has ever been definite for too long. He caves in, every time, at Clear’s diligent advances to pamper. There’s nothing to be hesitant about, he’s precious inside out regardless of how often he allows him to spoil him rotten. Clear would reassure him worlds of acceptance, after. 

For the moment being, though, he smoothes his free (and most importantly clean) hand up his boyfriends back to rest on his nape, right where some baby hair grow in curls, giving him a gentle squeeze. Truth be told, he’s expecting resistance to some degree, a bit of pressure against his hand or verbal scolding but Aoba throws him out of the left field again and takes the feeble restraint in stride, ceasing all and any attempts at retreating when Clear brings the apple forward again until it’s pressed against his thin lips.

“Open up.”

There’s no fight, no tension whatsoever in his lover as he complies. Mouth parting slowly, a flash of pointy canines, the sound of a bite. Clear rubs absently the soft skin of the fragile neck he holds, in blind encouragement.

“That’s it. Don’t just swallow the sweetness.” He leans closer to his ear, to whisper. “Savour it, Aoba.”

Cheeks painted pink, Aoba does the exact opposite and rushes to gulp down what he’d left in his mouth. Keeping pace, Clear tilts the apple some and repeats the offer, amused when Aoba allows the pressure on his lips only to greet the fruit with his off-the-charts cute grumpy snarl. Mortality, it was absurd to feel it so keenly at a sight. This man he loved was going to be the death, the ultimate irreparable shutdown of him.

“I’ll bite your finger off.” He threatens, honey eyes giving him a sidelong look.

“Yeah? I’d rather you suck it.”

“Huh?”

Aoba sputters, his blush flaring all the way down to his collarbone and the bit of chest the wide opening of his t-shirt allows to peek at. Averting his eyes as if burned, his lover shuffles around in his lap, replies stuck on his tongue and converging into one drawn-out groan.

“_Clear._”

“Just one more, then you’ll make your verdict.”

Silence stretches as Clear tilts his head to take a better look at Aoba. He’s bathed golden by the lamp lights, the sheen to his exposed skin so alluring, subtle, unlike the vibrancy to his damp and still undeniably ocean blue hair. Clear is well dazzled by the time Aoba pins him down with his charged stare, hand going to wrap around his wrist, thumb slipping under his watch to dig right into his artificial pulse and level the apple to his mouth better and _oh_. Just like that, a quick drag of teeth, a crunchy pull, that lethal bite that separates and turns to mush. He’d felt it, a visceral jolt to his core that has him tossing the leftover fruit back into the trashcan by the couch, eyes glued to Aoba because he’s not hurrying this time around, chewing his fill and then calmly swallowing it.

“Bland like water.” He concludes, matter-of-factly.

“Aoba.”

There’s a surge of warmth in him as he moves to turn his body, letting Aoba slide into the cushion, still safely holding him by the back as his boyfriend acts in kind and doesn’t let go of his wrist. Clear nudges a knee between welcoming thighs and lowers his body enough that Aoba can lay horizontal, comfortable, like the ebb and flow of the cellos in the background painting the scene mild and affectionate. Much as he may feel a growing heat coiling in his belly at the sight, really, he’s equally taken by a light-hearted happiness how breathtaking this man is, all flesh and bone, conflicted and imperfect yet trusting him enough to be this mix of openly vulnerable and challenging.

_His. _

“Aoba, you’re affected.”

The grip on his wrist tightens, perhaps in anticipation. “What do you mean?”

Or warning. With a jerk of his head to the side, Clear tries to get some hair out of his face, gain better visuals on his sole focal point. An act of greed, definitely, when he’s close enough to spot the goosebumps that rise all over his lover’s skin as he reaches out with his other hand to draw a featherlight caress on his way down his boyfriend’s back, fingertips brushing past and around a jutted hipbone before dipping confidently down.

“Here,” Clear pulls his lips up into a small smirk, giving a light squeeze to where stiffness meets loose clothing and sparks a surge of hot desperation he duly contains into the safe cup of his palm. “Is it not, Aoba-san?”

“I—” Aoba looks to the side, eyes shutting close and hips stuttering in mid-roll. “S-Shut up.”

“Uh-huh. Embarrassing much?”

“Hmph.”

Clear inches closer, touched when Aoba’s eyes flutter to catch a glimpse of him then revert into a more relaxed state of closed, expecting. _What, _Clear knows too well. It’s lulling, that silent call, one no curveball he throws could ever dream of doing other than drag a bit longer, before it pulls you in. Before it all _gives. _

He pecks Aoba’s nose, gently admonishing. “No.”

Confusion follows, misinterpreting, a blink of eyes unfocused and a soft jolt of a neck that has Aoba’s face coming up to meet his, mouth parting to let out everything Clear wants to steal, and does, with a final dive down to press his lips to Aoba’s. Tension seeps in ripples, a delicious longing blooming instead in the air around them as Aoba melts back into the couch and Clear mindlessly chases after. Slotting his hips with Aoba’s, the hand he had on the fly of his pants retracts to slide worn cotton up and expose a hipbone, sensitive, perfect to rub soothing circles over with his thumb.

His lover tastes of fruit, watery sweet and sticky on his tongue as he ventures inside with playful licks have Aoba trying and failing to swallow pants. Reflexive shyness, perhaps, not the self-imposed righteous type Clear worries about. This here is honest nerves, the kiss growing all clumsy and heated, definitely contrasting to the arms that secure around his neck and squeeze it into the juncture of their elbows so there’s no room for escape. Clear adores it, the livewire his boyfriend becomes at such simple affections. He follows along, eager to stoke the fire and flirt with danger because he knows obliteration won’t follow. No that it couldn’t, Aoba’s potential for destruction is devastatingly real, he’s not about to deny that. Nowhere’s safer, though, than close to him. No-one is quite as kind, quite as tender in his caring and love. Clear feels engulfed in it, his passive giving way to curious pecks on cheeks and neck, their quickened breaths muffled by the music. A brief look, and then lids droop to welcome darkness again when the kiss resumes, Aoba’s curiosity soon turning confident to the point Clear sucking lightly at his tongue have him buck up and offer more of it in form of a push, deep and so unexpected Clear pulls back with a ragged moan snagged clean and sudden from the bottom of his mechanical lungs.

“Aoba.”

He holds him by the shoulders, still all too close as Aoba’s grip around his neck remains rock solid. Gaze flitting over his face, he reaches out to comb Aoba’s hair fully back. Careful touches to hair that holds some residue sensitivity, fingers raking through drying tresses to coax harmless sensation into surfacing, those sweet sparks of undiluted pleasure that cloud his lover’s expression with desire.

Soon, he can’t look away.

_How._

_So pretty._

Downright-criminal_ pretty_, the blush that deepens, the wriggling and collateral choking his boyfriend subjects him to, composure cracking under the waves of lust that lap at warming flesh and leave a base itchy neediness behind. A sharp pull into that bottomless sea, it’s rarely elegant with them. Here, Clear can tell Aoba is more swept by the tide than rolling it out when he stills his hand, and with it the enthusiastic combing it’d been doing, to instead paw softly at his boyfriend’s crown; a gesture, mild, yet one that results in blown-out pupils and a gaping mouth. Clear licks his lips, relishing what he sees and then, too, hears. A drawn-out broken whimper spilling out high and loud and so deliciously raw it burns. Hot, it shoots straight to Clear’s groin and injects the same sense of urgency into him. 

Scrambling up with a start Clear breaks out of Aoba’s hold, weak protests gently shushed. His hands travel down, heavy but not rash as they grab at slim raised hips and pin them back into the cushions. He presses his own against, finding his position between his lover’s legs grown a bit too narrow so he folds a leg and slides it under Aoba’s thigh to give himself more momentum and easier access, not that exposing Aoba doesn’t work wonders to melt away silly inhibitions against pliant displays that don’t hold here, all unjudged and cared for and still every bit a boy in his arms. 

“Please, I— can’t …ah, Clear,”

“Aoba, you know—” Clear eases his grip on his lover and shifts experimentally forward, earning back a hiss and a hand pulling at his buttoned-up shirt. That wouldn’t do, no.

Not now.

Clear catches the clasped hand and coaxes its knuckles apart with swift fingers that press and slide over, have Aoba’s cling to his instead so they can end up intertwined, not a trace of fabric left to be seen of felt. Kindling the flames to the kindest fire to ever consume him, the sentiment to nourish it reflects off in the look they share after, heavy-lidded eyes meeting steady petal-pink ones.

“You _are_ good.”

Clear drives his swollen dick against Aoba’s, a smooth roll that his boyfriend aids by bucking up and down in near-perfect sync. They do falter, naturally, some moves aborted and restarted, unhurried, friction given and sought until they settle into a slow, scorching rhythm. Somewhere in the process their clasped hands drop to the side of Aoba’s head, Clear notes, and squeezes Aoba’s in reminder, watching enamoured as his lover’s eyes blink open and closed with their grinding, head lolling to the side and exposing a pale tempting strip of neck. “So good.”

Weak, he closes in on him to get a taste. Leave an unsuspicious mark if allowed.

“Can I?”

“Hmm?”

“Love bites? It’s been a while seen you’ve let me mark you up,” Clear ponders, nibbling the supple skin under his lover’s ear. “Here. Please, Aoba.”

“J-just…one. Not that high up.”

Clear chuckles, tries to push his luck. “Aw, you’re no fun.”

A bad liar, his excitement bleeds through enough to make him sound slightly maniac. Blessed moments, each and everyone he gets to spend with Aoba. Clear treasures this kind especially, rare as they tend to be. Greed has no room here.

“It’s, _ah, _common decency!”

Belly twisting with thick, undiluted want, Clear fails to pick up the rhythm again as his boyfriend’s thrusts stutter and he stills. Clear can feel Aoba’s cock throbbing against the inside of his thigh, and it dawns on him, belatedly, his poor choice of location.

“Hey… Clear.”

Then, after a beat of silence, breathy voice gone thin and tight. “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm, nothing.”

An understatement, maybe, but perfect as long as it keeps Aoba’s demons away. It’s silly, at any rate, him realising that this is the point where he’d suggest shedding their clothes and taking things to the next level…

Only he couldn’t, not on his boyfriend’s plushy couch that sucks up stains like a vacuum does dust. The bit of cola that toppled from the glass Clear was lowering into the coffee table? It can be seen from up close in the armrest, faded only slightly. After the incident, Aoba had been very vocal about his feelings about the integrity of the couch and whoever dares threaten it. It was his parents’ gift when he decided to move out of Tae’s, handcrafted by his mom’s sister so it held a ton of emotional value. Messing up again was unacceptable, it’d be a fast-ticket to betray Aoba’s trust. There was also a purpose, specific to this all, one that had somehow failed to stick much in Clear’s sex-muddied mind.

“Nothing, I’m here.”

Taking a calming breath, Clear works his teeth and tongue into the skin at the base of Aoba’s neck, fresh and soap-scented notes invading his senses where he licks and sucks. He worries the spot over and over, thrilled to have his pulse coming alive in his mouth and delicate pants pouring out into the air around him, unrestrained. A sugar-cotton static, it tickles his ears then fills them up until it’s all he can hear: his lover’s thready voice. There isn’t much else to do but lose himself in it for what little it may last before dazedly letting go with a quiet pop. Purple blooming at the edges of a striking reddish blotch on pale skin, shiny with saliva. Clear blows some air at it, revelling in the satisfaction of a job well-done and loving how Aoba just _lets_ him.

Inching closer and up, Clear lets his face hover a breath away from Aoba’s. His boyfriend is without a doubt subdued but not absent as they lock gazes, hesitance crumbling under a heavy undercurrent of longing that shows and he can connect all too well to, sweaty and hard and feelings for this stunning, soft-hearted blue-haired boy—_real_, breathing and vulnerable—overflowing his circuits with things that feel more than binary, more than 0s and 1s, and it’s too much to be fully conscious of at once yet in some other way just perfect. 

A giddy smile escapes him.

“Not with me.” He tilts his head purposefully, speaking into kind caramel eyes. “Never with me, okay?”

He fits his mouth to Aoba’s in a languid kiss, easy and undemanding, more a means to comfort and reassure than rile up. Aoba goes along, free hand coming to cup his cheek and idly caress it. Clear is reminded of the existence of his limbs then and lets go of Aoba’s left hand in his, damp palm leading him to believe he’d made a mistake in holding on for so long only Aoba seeks it right after and pulls at it in question. Clear breaks apart with a lovelorn sigh, eyes flicking open in time to catch Aoba’s forming frown.

“Clear?”

“Intimacy, a need for. I want it too.” He reaches out to touch Aoba’s chest, where his heart is beating faster than usual. He feels the steady thumps against his skin, every bit as fascinating as when he’d asked grandpa about that ever-present noise, the following explanation making Clear secretly saddened by his lack of something considered a staple of human existence. He’d learn the hard way it could be a technicality, with some people, plain noise. There could be just as much humanity in will, he’d learnt. His, he’d earned it and kept Aoba safe while others’ very organic hearts were set on damaging and destroying.

“The whimsy tidings of passion and the saccharine warmth of relief. I like you like this, Aoba. Always. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I love you.”

“Oh.”

Smooth, the well-worn waistbands he slips his hand under, requiring no help from his occupied other, to fumble with belts or buttons. Aoba comes alive under his touch, cock twitching all sensitive when he brushes past the underside to grip at the swollen base. It’s a bit of a challenge to adjust an angle so the waistbands won’t slide too dangerously low and risk making a mess but Clear manages well enough, perching on Aoba’s right thigh to hump against it as he starts stroking him slow and loose.

Erotic, through and through, the tented pyjamas pants with a small wet spot appearing on front, the slip of exposed tummy tensing up at intervals. Aoba’s hot puffs of air follow him when he averts his eyes from the sight to press his forehead against a slim shoulder and chase his own relief with the spontaneous feverish fantasies that play behind his lids, a darkness that shapes into a vague light, glimpses of Aoba flashing by as he bends over counters with that cute butt all perky in his tight jeans, as he’s a continuum of soapy soft skin, naked and unhurried in a hot tub, high bun coming undone the harder he impales himself on his dick and grows incoherent, as he offers up his mouth to swallow like a good boy then lets him wipe off what he couldn’t with kisses, so many kisses.

“Do it, _ah!_, more like that. Fu—_hmm,_ please, _faster._”

Clear is all too happy to comply, feeling himself teetering on the edge. He murmurs sweet nothings, nosing his way along Aoba’s collarbone as he twirls his wrist and puts more weight to his hand motions, a couple of fingers teasing at swollen balls that he’d suck on a heartbeat, because they’re a cute bundle of nerves that make Aoba turn to putty in his arms. It’s enough though, touch, sped up to mimic the sway of hurried frenzied masturbation only better because it’s your partner’s hand and fingers and Aoba’s cries are never this loud the few times Clear has caught him playing with himself. A blessing in disguise, to know it’s him, the drag of his thumb over a slit back and forth, back and forth, it’s him that has him unquiet and melodious, pants building in a crescendo of _ah’s_ and _oh’s_ and Clear can’t kiss him, won’t kiss him until he stops sounding so damn enticing only he doesn’t need to.

He could watch him all night, like this.

The thrill of edging would have to wait, though. He’s not faring that well himself either, all chafed and still clenching and humping mindlessly a thigh that’s cooperating enough, pushing up into him when he gets too caught up in his undoing of Aoba and loses rhythm.

Eyes brilliant with tears pooling at the corner look straight back at him when he checks on his boyfriend once more. Aoba quits his excited trashing and tries to hold stock still, expectant even as he’s buzzing, skin giving off heat and cock pulsing where Clear squeezes it to delay the inevitable a few more seconds. He pecks Aoba’s cheek and dips down to speak into a reddened ear.

“Go on. Don’t hold back, Aoba.” He bites at the earlobe playfully, tongue tracing the delicate outer shell as he drags his touch with gusto, making it encouraging again.

Four.

Four pumps it takes to have Aoba whimper and shudder under him, eyes screwing shut just before a spasm has his hips raise off the couch to give one last thrust up, harsh, cum shooting into fabric and skin and an itch for something oral visibly kicking in as his lover sends their joined hands flying to his mouth to bite-suck them. Clears trips into his climax watching Aoba ride his and begin to come down, hand easing his work on him all warm and sticky with his spilled load and uh—pretty boy going prettier, obedience suiting him like a light-blue aura and his? His, only his, his, his—_ah_, merciful little anchor, giving the timely yank that pulls him under for good, far from the convoluted surface. A brief rigidness seizes him, an involuntary last ditch attempt to not succumb but he’s already has, wants to. His vision blurs, oxygen rushes out of his lungs in a wheeze his ears pick up and focus on as his boxers turn extremely uncomfortable. No, it’s nothing worth paying much mind to when he’s finally joining Aoba in this bliss, a sated easy feeling wrapping slowly around him like a blanket and letting him sink out of consciousness to wash out all the raw, leave behind a boundless calm between spent honest bodies. An afterglow to bask in with the person he loves like no other.

“Hey,” Aoba whispers lowly, more consequence than intention it seems, if the coughing that follows is any indication that the lingering raspiness of his tone isn’t welcome. “All good?”

“Mmmhm.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, of course.” Clear moves from where he’d collapsed on top of Aoba, sitting himself back up and reaching for the handkerchief he keeps on the back pocket of his trousers. He wipes his hand clean with the soft fabric then stuffs it back in the pocket, to wash later. “You?”

“I’m rethinking my nightly shower routine, you know.”

Clear snags the playful hint, amps it up in all its easy loveliness. “Really? I’m flattered.”

Aoba shakes his head, looking at him intently for all two seconds before thin lips stretch into a bright smirk and tear any trace of a serious expression to shreds. “There are two kinds of people in the world…”

_People._

Clear can tell Aoba’s been following his movements, expectant. Eyes a little wide and starry, they blink sluggishly in question when he leans closer to slip his hands under his boyfriend’s shoulders and help him sit upright, next to him. 

“Thank you.”

With a nod, Clear lets a comfortable silence fall over them. He extends an arm to send the signal that’ll switch the tv off, the stream well-ended by now, only a banner of the music festival left on screen. He turns slightly to Aoba to see him wiping the sweat on his forehead with his forearm, head thrown back as he stares off into the ceiling. He’d have offered tissues, if he’d some on him.

The thought is fleeting, just something to be noticed as he embraces the tranquil. He’s here, living. Life needn’t be flawless. Life needn’t be grand, loud and eventful every passing second.

It could be eyes fluttering close, lips buzzing with the absent humming of some slow tune.

It could be little pleasures, like the fingers that start raking through his hair and scalp. Back and forth and around; then repeat. Into his neck, his forefront, the back of his ears. He really likes it.

“I’d never been sexual with boys, before.” Aoba gives a wistful sigh. “Never thought that I’d be but that’s…all me. It’s nothing to do with you.”

Clear opens his eyes wide as he can manage, zeroes in on Aoba’s. “Well, I never thought much about food in terms of sexual possibilities. Your feeding kink changed that, though!”

“K-Kinks aside.” Aoba gives a strained laugh, arm twitching and fingers unintentionally digging in. “I promise to try being more… easygoing, about our relationship. Sounds good?”

Oh, but he knows. Just thinking about it makes Clear dizzy with happiness. “As long as you’re comfortable, yes. That’d be really, _really_ nice.”

“I am, with you.” Aoba nods, hand patting his shoulder before letting go. “We should clean up here and head to bed. I’m sleepy.”

“I’ll do it,” Clear offers, energy far from depleted. “Don’t worry.”

“Wait.”

“What is it, Aoba-san?”

His boyfriend’s eyes glimmer as he speaks slow, emphatic. “I love you. _You,_ like this… I love you too, Clear.”

Here, spoken so freely.

How precious. How intimate the way such simple words can bind—and _do_.

Clear outright beams at him, expression going lax and easy as he grabs hold of his hand and kisses the top of it with a little vow of his head. 

Not for the first time today, he feels his chest circuitry brimming with a keen sense of protectiveness.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/ kudos make my day :D


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